


An Apt Student

by Hatsepsut



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Double Penetration, M/M, Multi, Sharing, Slash, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 02:22:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsepsut/pseuds/Hatsepsut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair is in love; to his great surprise, though, he has found himself in love with a man: Dayan, his fellow Grey Warden. So what is the shy Chantry Boy doing asking Zevran for some...lessons? And Will Zevran accept? Well, we all know the answer to that, don't we? NSFW warning. This starts of as m/m and ends up as m/m/m. Kinks abound. Be warned. NSFW.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShebasDawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShebasDawn/gifts).



> This is a present fic for my dear friend ShabasDawn, originally posted on FF under the same name. Many thanks to her for the wonderful prompt and the wonderful beta job.

“Will you stop fidgeting, my lovely Chantry Boy?” Zevran asked, highly amused by Alistair’s blush and the way he was fingering the threadbare hem of his shirt, twisting it around.

“Yes, because you know, I do this all the time...” the ex-Templar drawled sarcastically and rolled his eyes, willing his blush to go away. The damned thing didn’t want to listen, though.

Zevran chuckled and uncorked the bottle of Antivan brandy. “This will help you relax, amico,” he offered one of the two glasses to Alistair, who took it and tentatively sniffed it.

“It doesn’t bite,” Zevran smiled, and Alistair, feeling reassured, swallowed down a huge gulp. His eyes bulged out and he started coughing, making Zevran laugh heartily and thump his back.

“It doesn’t bite, but it certainly kicks!” Alistair squeaked, then cleared his throat. Warmth was spreading inside him, but he wasn’t certain if it was because of the drink or because of Zevran’s hand on his back, rubbing slow circles on the tense muscles with a feather light touch.

“Relax, amico,” the heavily accented voice breathed next to his ear, and instead of having the desired effect it made him jump nearly a foot in the air, which was impressive, since he was sitting down and all.

“Easy for you to say,” Alistair settled back down, embarrassed by his childish nervousness.

“You’re acting like a skittish virgin, Alistair.”

“Well...erm...I am a skittish virgin,” Alistair blushed even more.

Zevran chuckled again, and settled down on a chair next to the bed.

“Might I remind you, my delicious Templar friend, that it was you that requested this...lesson, si?”

“Ex-Templar, thank you very much,” Alistair corrected, and then blushed even more when he realised that the assassin was right. He had asked for this...lesson, for lack of a better word. Then he swallowed down another swig of his drink, managing not to cough this time and seem like more of an idiot than usual. Maker, what am I doing, he thought. Have I gone completely mad?

How did I get to this point?

* * *

If someone were to ask Alistair when he had first noticed his fellow Warden in more than a friendly, casual way, he wouldn’t have been able to say. All he knew was that one day, instead of noticing the man’s sparring skills, he had noticed how the muscles on his forearms had bunched and how darn cute that curve of his bicep was.

He had shaken his head and attributed the strange thoughts to bad cheese.

But then, a few days later, he had been walking behind Dayan, and out of the blue a thought had jumped into his head:

Damn, that is one delicious looking ass!

That was the first time he had started questioning his own sexuality, right after recovering from the dive he had taken after stumbling in shock at his own thoughts. Result? One red-faced ex-Templar kissing dirt, a dark-haired apostate howling with laughter, and a blond assassin giving him a calculating look.

Dayan had offered him a hand to help him up and Alistair had fumbled, trying to find his legs again, and then his eyes had met the sparkling grey eyes of his brother-in-arms and his heart had given a weird little flutter.

Later that evening at camp, he had remained silent for the better part of the night, not even rising to the jabs and teasing of that black-hearted shrew; instead he had watched the Warden out of the corner of his eye and tried to sort out the most confusing emotions he had ever felt in his life.

Later that night he had been awakened by what had been his first wet dream about a man.

And everything had become crystal clear.

* * *

“So,” he fidgeted in place, avoiding Zevran’s eyes. “What do we do now? Are we going to just sit here and stare at each other all night?”

Zevran shrugged. “Why not? I am a sight to behold, si?”

Alistair contemplated replying with a sarcastic retort but realised he was just stalling. He gritted his teeth. If he wanted Dayan, he had to do this. He would not make a fool of himself with the man who had captured his dreams. Suddenly determined, and afraid that determination would disappear like a puff of smoke if he spent too much time thinking about it, he grasped the hem of his tunic and pulled it over his head.

Zevran choked on his wine at the sudden sight of well-chiselled muscles and shoulders as wide as a door frame, but it was only momentary. He masked his surprise and gave the shy warrior an encouraging smile before he removed his own tunic, pulling it over his head in a markedly more seductive way, baring his golden skin inch by glorious inch.

Alistair seemed to be both extremely embarrassed and fascinated by the sight. He swallowed once and reached out, his fingers trembling, before he pulled his hand back again and raised apprehensive eyes to the assassin’s face.

“May I? Errrm, hm...” he cleared his voice. “May I touch?”

Zevran rose from the chair and settled on his knees on the bed next to Alistair, who nearly bolted to the other side of the room, but managed to control his nerves with herculean effort.

“I believe,” Zevran crooned, taking one of the warrior’s large hands and setting it on the bulging pectorals of his chest, “that this was the whole idea, Alistair, was it not?”

Alistair breath caught, and his face exploded into a blush so violent it seemed that smoke was going to start coming out of his ears. Then the amazingly smooth texture of the skin underneath his fingers registered, as well as the heat that seemed to be coming off the other man in waves. He blinked once, then twice, and then he splayed his fingers on that wonderfully soft, resilient flesh, the firm skin that stretched over sinewy muscle, feeling the heartbeat that was thumping underneath.

He forgot to be ashamed as heat gathered into his bloodstream and pooled straight south, making him instantly, painfully hard.

“Show me,” he whispered, not even aware of the way the elf’s eyes had hooded with desire, nor the predatory grin on Zevran’s lips.

“My pleasure,” the assassin purred. He laid his hands on Alistair’s chest, and with a wide swooping motion, dragged his fingers from the pebbled point of the warden’s nipples, over the quivering well-defined abdominals, and down to the baby soft skin of his hips.

Alistair jerked as if he were being scalded with hot water and drew in a startled breath at the sensation. The response of his own body, the fire that roared in his veins, and the dizzying wave of lust that fogged his mind surprised him.

“Maker, that feels so good...” he gasped. “Do that again.”

Zevran chuckled and ran his hands up the warrior’s torso again, feather light touches which were just inches away from being tickles, and then flicked his thumbs over Alistair’s nipples.

The groan that vibrated in the larger man’s chest was both tortured and ecstatic, and Zevran grinned evilly, thinking to himself that Alistair might be a virgin, but he was a responsive one, and wondering how many licks it would take to make the ex-templar come in his smalls. Not overly prone to not satisfying his curiosity, Zevran then leaned in and swiped his tongue over one of the flat disks. He smiled secretly as Alistair’s response was to draw a deep breath, hold it for a few seconds, and then release it with a moan and a choked plea to the Maker.

The ex-templar’s large hands came to rest on the sides of Zevran’s head, pulling him down to his chest, and Zevran had to chuckle at Alistair’s eagerness. “You had better be paying attention, amico,” he rasped, running his tongue over a nicely bulging pectoral, and then sinking his teeth in a small nip that had Alistair yelping.

Alistair turned around so abruptly that Zevran lost his balance and was thrown back, his body now trapped under Alistair’s bulk. He raised an eyebrow at the look Alistair was giving him, as if he wanted to gobble him all up, but had no idea where to start.

“The ears are always a nice place to start for an elf,” he suggested helpfully, and Alistair’s eyes zoomed in on the pointy appendages, growing even larger.

“May I? Really?”

Zevran turned his head to the side with a slightly perverted smile on his lips. “Be my guest, amico. After all, I am here to help you learn, no? Just don’t bite.”

Alistair pouted, an adorable little boy pout that made Zevran smile. “Not even a little?”

“As long as there are no chunks missing in the end, I am fine.”

Alistair smiled tentatively, then bit his lip. “I still can’t believe I’m doing this. I almost expect to wake up any minute now and have some curvy young wench wrapped all around me, gushing over my impressive physique. That’s how I always imagined this scene you know...and cheese, there had to be cheese.”

“I think your heart and your body,” Zevran said, as he gave a pointed look down to where Alistair’s erection was tenting his britches, “already know that will never happen, my friend. Your brain is a little slow in catching up, as usual.”

Alistair lost his next breath as the assassin arched up underneath him and warm bodies touched for the first time. His hands seemed to move on their own volition, petting and discovering the amazing textures of skin and muscle.

“If there was an insult hidden somewhere in there I can’t be bothered to look for it,” he mumbled, then hissed as Zevran’s mouth trailed up his corded neck and the underside of his jaw to flick against the dimple of his chin.

Zevran chuckled again, then gently pushed until it was Alistair that was lying on his back. Next, he straddled the larger man and ran his hands down from his shoulders, wide enough to block the sun, to his slim boyish hips and the soft downy hair that was framing that perfect little belly button. His mouth watered. _Damn him_. Even with all his childishness and naiveté, Alistair was still an amazingly well-built specimen of a man.

“Some ground rules, then, my friend? Just to make this a little less awkward,” he drawled and watched how Alistair tensed and then relaxed, nodded, and smiled.

“No kissing,” Alistair immediately said. “I want my first kiss to be with Dayan.”

Zevran nodded. “Come on, Alistair, ask. I know you want to.”

“Ermmm...ahem...” Alistair cleared his throat. “Do I have to? I don’t want to be the one to say it.”

Zevran rolled his eyes and then leaned in and seductively ran his tongue around the rounded rim of the warrior’s ear.

“Do I take you, my lovely ex-templar, or do you take me?”

“Me you. And ....ermmm...perhaps, you could...show me, you know, how to...ahem.”

“Prepare me?”

Alistair blushed crimson.

“Let me guess then...” Zevran rolled his eyes theatrically.  “You want Dayan to be your first. You want him to be the first inside...” a lick against Alistair’s nipple, “...your...” a little nip, “...virgin ass.” His mouth latched onto that perfectly pebbled nipple and suckled as the last word left his mouth.

Alistair closed his eyes and moaned.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Zevran decided that the time for niceties was over, and he yanked the laces of Alistair’s britches open, revealing the strawberry-blond curls that were escaping his modest smallclothes. He smiled at Alistair’s shocked expression, then reached into his smalls to grasp the cock that was straining against the cloth.

He couldn’t help a shudder escape at the impressive size and girth of the ex-Chantry boy and the heat that spread through him as Alistair moaned and arched into his hands.

“Maker, help me!” Alistair groaned.

“Shhh, my Chantry boy. You are going to love this.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Maker...Oh, sweet Maker. Keep doing that.... Sweet. Andraste. That. Is...oh, _OH_.”

Zevran’s blond head came up.

“Do you always talk that much, amico?”

Alistair pushed the assassin’s head back down. “That’s blubbering, not talking.” He sighed, and then moaned as the elf’s mouth returned to its task. “I’m an Alistair-shaped puddle of goo. Good job, kudos, and all that. Keep going.”

Zevran chuckled, and the vibrations that it sent up the warrior’s member made him moan and thrash on the bed.

“MAKER!”

“It’s Zevran, but be my guest. I am divine, after all.”

Alistair chanced a look and what he saw made all the blood rush from one head to the other. He clenched his fists as the sensations attacked his body; that hot, moist mouth engulfing his nearly painful erection; those pouty lips almost obscenely stretched around his shaft; that wicked, wicked tongue stroking the little slit at the top. Watching that, seeing it, was almost as good as feeling it and he moaned once again, his hips arching instinctively, the need to thrust imperative, an urge that could not be denied.

Zevran had already made him come once, just with his hand, and then had smiled cheekily and told Alistair to show him what he had learned.

Alistair had blushed so hard he had thought that the colour might become permanent, but he had tentatively touched him. Soon he had been enthralled enough by the small needy whispers in Antivan and the way the elf had writhed under his touch to let go of some of his inhibitions and demonstrate the one sexual art that his days in the Chantry had made him an expert in. He had discovered that an elf’s ears were amazingly sensitive and that he loved nuzzling and licking and nibbling the elegant tips. Watching another man come had been a shock and a revelation; it was something he hadn’t even watched himself do very often, since that kind of thing was something that he had always done in the dark, and with a lingering sense of guilt. He found that he was thrilled at the sight of it and that he loved having that kind of sexual power over another person’s pleasure.

Touching another man’s cock had also been a revelation; his own member had given him pleasure, sure enough, and copious amounts of guilt, but he had never really paid too much attention to it, hadn’t really taken the time to appreciate how velvety soft the skin could be, how such softness could mask amazing hardness, like steel encased in silk. As his hand had played over Zevran’s shaft, his ears so red they were probably burning a hole in the sheets, he had been in awe of the beauty and the strength in such a delicate organ. He had for the first time put aside with a determined shove the lecturing of the stern, prune-faced old sisters at the Chantry. Touching it wasn’t wrong. It was glorious.

Now, as he was watching Zevran lick and suck and take him deep, deep down his throat, he was at a loss for words, never having believed this organ, whose urges he had been trying to suppress all this time, would ever be able to give him such stroke-inducing pleasure. He moaned and groaned, unable to keep the desperate, needy sounds in much as he bit his lip and clenched his fists.

Zevran was looking at him, molten golden eyes meeting his as he was running his tongue up and down the underside of his cock, which was twitching with want and leaking pearly white tears of joy. One hand wrapped around the turgid length and pumped him up and down slowly, deliberately keeping in rhythm with that gifted tongue. When the elf’s mouth trailed even lower to bathe the twin globes underneath, Alistair cried out and ran his hands through the short spikes of his hair, yanking in a futile effort to counteract the pleasure, to prolong it.

“Zevran...” he panted, “I’m going to...Maker, Maker, MAKER! I’m close...Zev, please. I can’t...I must...please, oh Lord, please. PLEASE.”

Zevran chuckled again, sending even more vibrations up the shaft he was tormenting, and Alistair snapped with a rugged moan, his body arching up from the mattress and ropes of seed landing in wide arcs on his chest and torso.

“Warden stamina...” Zevran mumbled at the copious amounts of semen the young warrior had released, so soon after he had finished once already, and shook his head. “Where can I join?”

“Huh?” Fogged eyes met the assassin’s grin and he blushed again. Alistair’s body was still twitching, and obviously his mind had been reduced to mush, because he just gave Zevran an adorably confused and awed looked, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened to him, as if his mind had trouble processing the pleasure still whipping his body.

Zevran laughed, and then touched a finger to the pools of seed that were glistening on the warden’s sweat-slicked body and brought his finger to his mouth. He made a show of licking his finger clean, purring at the heady, slightly bitter taste. Alistair’s eyes widened in surprise and shock and then hooded with desire, eyelids falling over pupils that had suddenly blown to nearly all black.

He moaned, and his cock jumped to attention again, painfully twitching.

“Come, my lovely Chantry boy,” Zevran slid gracefully up the bed, and took one of Alistair’s large hands in his, guiding it to his groin. “Show me what you’ve learned.”


	3. Chapter 3

Zevran fell back, panting, his body tingling. His body felt lax, boneless, small shudders of pleasure still making him quiver.

Alistair’s head rose up from his groin, red as a ripe tomato, and Zevran resisted the urge to tease him. For about two seconds.

“You are an apt student, amico,” he sighed, his hand running through the short spikes of the blond’s hair, now slicked with sweat and standing up at all angles. “Your talents would have been sadly underused as a templar.”

Alistair hid his face on Zevran’s belly with a sigh, and then gave a small self-deprecating chuckle. “I can just imagine what old Sister Petunia would say if she saw me now.”

“Do you think you might stop blushing any time soon?”

Alistair shook his head against Zevran’s flesh. “No, I think it’s permanent now.”

Zevran closed his eyes for a few seconds, contentment spreading through him. He knew feeling so...so at peace was dangerous. After all, Alistair was not his to keep; he was in love with another man. He had been secretly watching when the Warden, Dayan, had told Leliana that he had no interest in virgins, and that he would rather sleep with a genlock than have to break one in, and he had seen the crushed, disappointed look on Alistair’s face.

They had both stumbled upon the conversation; Leliana had playfully asked the Warden why he hadn’t acted on his obvious attraction to his fellow warden, and he had replied that he didn't want an inexperienced lover, thank you very much, who wouldn’t know what end went where and might end up hurting him. Alistair had nearly burst into tears, and then a determined look had crossed his face. The next thing Zevran knew, he was being propositioned by the blushing ex-templar, who was determined to gain the experience Dayan wanted from a lover.

A lesson, he had said. He wanted a lesson. Dayan was right, he had said. I am nothing more than a lumbering oaf of a man. I wouldn’t trust me to be good at this kind of thing either.

Zevran had made it a rule never to get involved in such highly emotional situations between star-struck lovers, but the honest desperation on the young man’s face, and the courage that it had taken him to make that request had swayed him. He wouldn’t normally need any coaxing to get such a beefcake into his bed, but he was starting to think that Alistair would be someone worth keeping; and that was a problem, a complication he wanted nothing to do with.

So when Alistair raised his bright red face to ask what came next, he hesitated, just for a second.

“Are you absolutely sure you want to take this any further, Alistair?” he asked, his voice for once devoid of all lewdness, all teasing, and Alistair gave him a slightly puzzled look before his eyes grew warm with appreciation and he nodded, once, for the first time not blushing. Zevran could read trust in the other man’s eyes, and his heart, against his will, warmed at the sight.

 _Oh, Brasca_ , he thought. _Here goes nothing_.

“Okay then, amato,” he whispered, not even registering the involuntary transition from amico to amato, and smiled encouragingly. “Get on your back and spread your legs for me. I’ll show what you have to do.”

 

* * *

 

Alistair moaned again and closed his eyes, throwing his head back. He was on his back, his torso supported on his corded forearms, as Zevran focused his unwavering attention on Alistair’s shaft, which was once again straining, pointing proudly upwards.

“You are trying to kill me,” he sighed. “This is all an elaborate assassination attempt. Can a man die by coming too much?”

Zevran smiled. “Amato, if you can still use words as big as those, I am not doing my job properly.” Then his mouth was trailing up and down that swollen shaft again, worshipping it with feather light licks and open-mouthed kisses.

Alistair was just about ready to reply, when Zevran pushed his trembling thighs wider apart and his tongue trailed lower, making him jump and tense up.

“You are not honestly thinking of...MAKER PRESERVE ME! ZEVRAN!”

The elf’s tongue was now licking around that little puckered opening, and Alistair nearly choked from shock and the sudden spear of pleasure that lanced through his groin. A million nerve endings he had no idea were so sensitive were whipping into life, sending fire to incinerate his brain.

“What are you doing?! Zevran! Maker, you can’t lick me there, that’s so...”

Zevran raised his head. “Nice?”

Alistair fell back with a groan.

“Yesss...” he hissed. “Nice. Keep going.”

That tormenting tongue returned to his opening and Alistair nearly bit a hole through the pillow he had put over his face to keep his moans down.

“Ah, amato, you’re not playing nice,” Zevran protested with a pout. “I want to hear you. You sound so exquisite.”

“I don’t think the rest of Redcliffe would agree, Eamon especially,” Alistair mumbled from underneath the pillow. Zevran gave a throaty laugh and returned to his task, lapping up against that little hole, then thrusting in, testing the resistance of the untried muscles. Alistair moaned again, his voice muffled by the pillow, and Zevran couldn’t resist the urge to tease him.

“Are you watching, Chantry boy?” he asked between licks. “You will have to do this afterwards, show me what you have learned. You are taking notes, si?”

Alistair choked and sputtered.

“You must be joking. Yes, yes, that is a joke. No way. No way in the Void, AH, MAKER!  Stop that!”

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” Zevran put some more force behind his thrust and the tip of his tongue penetrated slightly, now stroking the inside of that little hole that was beginning to bloom under his ministrations.

Alistair thrashed on the bed as a reply and moaned loudly enough to make the windows rattle.

“I’ll just take that as a resounding si.”

Alistair’s chest heaved with the force of his panting, and little gasps and moans started tumbling from his mouth at an alarming pitch and tempo.

Zevran just laughed. Brasca, the little Chantry virgin was just...delicious.

“You might want to squeeze that pillow a bit more, amato,” he warned. “Fingers come next.”

“Maker, maker...oh, Maker...wait, wait! Fingers?”

One long digit, well slicked with saliva, pressed against his opening as a reply. Alistair keened in distress, and his hips bucked up from the mattress; the finger pushed in anyway, relentlessly sinking inside him until it was embedded up to the second knuckle.

Alistair suddenly went perfectly still, his body corded like a tightly wound coil, before he relaxed and moaned, allowing that encroaching finger to sink fully inside him.

“There, that’s good,” Zevran crooned. “One more, now.” He added another finger, rejoicing at the tight fit, the way the muscles clenched snugly against his fingers. He bent his head and took the ex-templar’s erection in his mouth, purring at the way it was leaking pre-come liberally, and then thrust his fingers, crooking them to find that perfect spot inside the other man, the spot that was sure to make the inexperienced man scream in pleasure.

He wasn’t disappointed.


	4. Chapter 4

Alistair panted on the bed, his fists still clutching at the sheets, his mind reeling. He barely registered Zevran getting up to get a moist rag to clean him, his whole body trembling with the aftershocks of one of the most glorious orgasms of his life. Maker, Zevran’s fingers were magic. Pure, unadulterated magic. He had never even imagined...he had hoped, but he hadn’t imagined. 

Zevran returned to his side and ran a hand down his sweat-slicked torso, petting him, soothing him down from his incredible high. All this, just by fingers and a wickedly talented mouth, Alistair thought. How was the actual act going to feel? Maker, he couldn’t think about that right now, he’d get hard again.

Too late, he thought with a groan, and shot his shaft a chastising look.

“Oh, this is just ridiculous. If this ever got out, my lovely warden, you’d have recruits banging down the doors.” Zevran shot Alistair’s shaft a disgusted look. “That is just unnatural.”

Alistair palmed his own cock and shot him a smile that was for the first time just as lewd and perverted as the assassin’s.

“You’re just jealous. And tired. You can’t keep up with me, can you? The great Zevran Arainai, bested by a Chantry virgin.”

Zevran bit down on Alistair’s nipple before his hand trailed down to the other man’s groin again.

“I have created a monster,” he laughed.

Alistair slipped his fingers through the elf’s hair, untying the leather band that was keeping the braids in place.

“Untie your hair for me,” he suddenly rasped, his voice hoarse, and Zevran looked up to see a look of burning desire and affection clouding the blond man’s eyes.

Zevran’s breath caught for a moment, and then he undid his customary braids and let his hair loose for...he couldn’t remember when he had last done that. It felt strangely intimate, more intimate than anything they had done so far, and he swallowed hard at the look of pure lust that transformed the previously shy Chantry virgin into a dangerous predator.

“Get on your knees,” Alistair growled. “Time for me to show you what I’ve learned.”

Then he broke his own rule, and leaning in, he kissed Zevran, moaning as he did so, his tongue wet and hot and surprisingly talented.

Zevran lifted into the kiss and rose up on his knees above him, while Alistair’s hand slipped to the back of his neck and tangled into his hair, grabbing a fistful and yanking him down, until the elf was lying on top of him, covering his body like a warm, sexy blanket.

The kiss went on forever it seemed, before Alistair yanked him away by his hair, making Zevran hiss at the sudden pain; he enjoyed a little rough handling, though, and the slight pain along with the insanely hot, possessive look the warrior sent him, had him almost coming on his stomach.

Alistair looked deep into his eyes for a few seconds before making a sexy growling sound, and next thing he knew, Zevran had been turned onto his stomach and pulled up on his hands and knees by hands tightening on his hips to the point of bruising, and Alistair was rubbing himself against his ass. He felt that huge cock slip against him, rubbing against his crack, and moaned, surrendering totally. Maker, he had created a sexy, dominant monster; once Alistair had been cured of his inhibitions, his natural, instinctive sexuality had come to the surface-and what sexuality it was! What a crime it had been to indoctrinate this sensual, sexual man into that shy, blubbering man he had been at the beginning of this night!

All thought was suddenly chased from Zevran’s mind as large calloused hands ran down his spine to part his buttocks, lingering over the sweeping lines of his tattoos, and then coming to tease and probe with an ease that was almost comical if one took the time to compare this Alistair to the one that had blushed enough to warm the room before. Zevran whispered to him to grab the vial of oil from his discarded britches, and the tall warrior scrambled to get off the bed and fumbled around the pile of haphazardly strewn clothing, swearing in his impatience all the time, making Zevran chuckle at the adorableness of his innovative cursing.

He returned to Zevran, and the assassin felt a furnace of heat against the back of his thighs once again. He turned his head to watch as Alistair struggled to uncork the little bottle.

“Damn it, Zevran, how do you open this thing?” Alistair whined, his impatience endearing and charming, “I swear my hands are as big as hams; I have no grace... I’m hopeless.”

Zevran rose to his knees and bent his head to exchange an awkwardly slanted kiss that effectively shut Alistair up, and made short work of the stubborn bottle stopper, then fell back to his hands and knees. Alistair chuckled, and coated his hands with the oil liberally. Then, just before he was ready to show Zevran just how well he had learned his lesson, he was struck with sudden inspiration.

Zevran’s eyes widened as he felt a hot mouth trailing down the small of his back, and a tremor rushed through his frame. “You don’t have to...Brasca!” he hissed, as stubble rubbed against the tender skin of his buttocks, just before Alistair ran his tongue against his opening, shocking him. Alistair chuckled, and then tentatively used his fingers to prepare Zevran, taking his sweet time about it, until the elf underneath him was ready to do what he had not done for ages; beg.

When he finally pushed his length inside Zevran, carefully, tenderly, terrified he might hurt the smaller man, Alistair thought his head was going to explode; the tightness, the hot, snug fit, the amazing feeling of belonging. He roared his pleasure to the ceiling, holding his body perfectly, exquisitely still until the grunting elf in front of him had time to relax and accept him. He thought that nothing would ever be as hard as making himself wait; it had taken all his stamina, all his discipline. But when he thrust for the first time, drawing back to slide back in, he realised that was not true; the hardest thing would be not to blow his load within seconds at the amazing feeling.  Zevran was looking at him over his shoulder, his face contorted in a grimace of both pain and pleasure, and he ran a hand down the elf’s back, from the nape of his neck to the small of his back.

“Am I hurting you?” His own voice sounded unrecognisable to his ears, hoarse, nearly guttural, trembling with the strain of holding on, and Zevran just moaned in answer and thrust his hips back at him, taking him in more completely.

“Oh, Maker...” Alistair gasped, then repeated the motion, drawing back to slam back in with a brutal thrust which was welcomed by a moaned stream of heated Antivan. “Are you sure I’m not hurting you?”

Zevran gasped at the next thrust as it rasped against that perfect little spot that made his toes curl, and then gave Alistair an incredibly aroused, pleading look.

“Chantry boy, you talk too much.”

Alistair smiled, and some of the tension and worry disappeared from his expression. He flexed the muscles of his back and hips, sending himself incredibly deep inside his lover and moaned to the ceiling, trembling from head to toe like a stallion. “This is...Maker above, this is divine.”

“Alistair...amato,” Zevran gasped. “ _You. Talk. Too. Much_.”

Alistair made the mistake of looking down at the point where Zevran’s body was stretched around his shaft and he lost it. Words and thoughts faded from his mind, and he became primitive in his need, thrusting with wild abandon, grunting and swearing as he coiled and struck, shafting the smaller man with enough force to make him slide on the bed, until Zevran had to put a hand against the headboard to steady himself. He looked utterly debauched, flushed from head to toe and ravished with pleasure.

“Ah, amato, you’re killing me,” Zevran moaned, his voice dreamy among the little gasps and moans that were accentuated by the sound of flesh slapping against flesh and ragged breaths. “I swear I’m going to die.”

Alistair whole body shook, suspended at the edge of a massive orgasm. He clenched his hands on Zevran’s hips and prayed for strength.

“I...can’t. I have to...Zevran, I can’t hold on! Could you die a little sooner?” His thrusts turned erratic, his buttocks clenching and his whole body shaking, floating just at the end. He felt electricity tingling along his spine and his balls gathered up, tensed, getting ready to release. Maker, he didn't want to finish before Zevran. He bent over the smaller man, wrapping a hand around him to furiously pump his cock, while he panted against his back.

“A little more,” Zevran grunted under the frantic thrusts, taking the other man’s weight completely. “We’ll die together.”

Alistair mouthed Zevran's strong golden neck and clutched his buttocks until at last they both cried out, a harsh, primitive sound, victory and surrender mixed as one. The former Chantry boy howled as his seed shot from him, and Zevran sighed as he accepted it, feeling it scald his insides, just before his own cock jerked and twitched, spraying the sheets underneath them.

They collapsed on the bed together, Alistair sighing as he sipped from inside Zevran, and the assassin moaning at the sudden forlorn feeling of being without the warrior’s heat on his back. They paid no heed to the wrinkled, soiled bed sheets, or to the seed and sweat drying on their bodies.

They spoke no words as well, hiding behind hastily erected walls; Alistair’s thoughts turned to Dayan and he felt inexplicably guilty about it; Zevran dismissed any lingering feeling of melancholy by reminding himself that this was just a lesson. Nothing more.

At some point in the wee hours of the morning, Alistair woke up to find himself being gently cleaned with a wet washrag, but when he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes long enough to talk to the rogue, he was stopped with an unexpectedly tender kiss, and he closed his eyes again with a contented sigh.

Zevran took one last long look at the warrior before he slipped out of the room.


	5. Chapter 5

“So, Alistair,” Leliana shot the yawning warden a lewd look, “I heard some strange noises coming from your room last night.”

Alistair’s head came up and he narrowed his eyes at the bard before he swallowed his food. He shot the tiniest of looks at Zevran, who was munching on his own breakfast, stony-faced and obviously determined to pretend nothing had happened.

Alistair shook his head, deciding that perhaps it was for the best and dismissing a little stab of disappointment.

Dayan was looking at him, his sparkling grey eyes puzzled and concerned.

“It was nothing,” he blurted, slightly flushed. “I had a...a belly ache. Yes. Bad cheese.”

“Are you better now?” Dayan’s warm smile sent flutters down his spine.

“Much...much better, thank you.”

Leliana hummed. “Oh? And Zevran was there to do what exactly? Give you a potion?”

Alistair’s eyes widened and his face flushed bright red before he could control his expression.

“You are mistaken, my lovely little bird of paradise,” Zevran said. “I was nowhere near his room last night.” His attitude was cordial, but underneath there was a hidden undertone of menace, and Leliana was too shrewd not to catch it. She immediately looked from Zevran, to Alistair, to Dayan and then bit her lip and excused herself to join their other companions at the other table in the big hall.

“Yes, yes, what was I thinking? Surely I heard something completely different and...I’m sure it was just Alistair and his aching bowels. The cheese was a bit off yesterday.”

The three men were left alone at the table. Heavy silence reigned, filled with tension. Unable to bear it, Alistair raised his head to see Dayan, pale and wide-eyed, looking from his bowed head to Zevran’s unwavering stare.

He saw his fellow warden toss his napkin on the table with fury in his eyes and motion for Zevran to follow him. Alistair was left staring after them. He noted the deceptively relaxed way Zevran was holding himself and the furious, long strides of Dayan. Oh, Maker, he thought. This is going to get ugly.

He rushed after them. As he burst into Dayan’s room, he saw the elven warrior land a withering blow to Zevran’s chin. Even the svelte assassin wasn’t quick enough to dodge that blow, and he slumped against the wall, blood running down his split lip.

“You bastard!” Dayan grabbed the dazed assassin and hefted him clear off his feet. “What did you do? Did you get him drunk? Did you put something in his drink? I’ll kill you, you fucking whoreson!”

“DAYAN!” Alistair roared, and stepped between the two elves, forcing his fellow warden to step back and release Zevran, who leaned against the wall, out of breath, and brought a hand up to his lip.

“It wasn’t like that, Dayan!” Alistair struggled to keep the elven warrior back, grasping him by his shoulders and keeping him pinned against his chest as he lunged for Zevran again. “I wanted it!”

All fight left the Warden and he went perfectly still, as still as a statue. Alistair couldn’t see his face, but he saw the way Zevran’s eyes widened and his heart fell. He cringed. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Dayan to turn around, and he desperately wished for something to happen, for the ground to open up and swallow him.

Dayan’s fists clenched next to his body.

“You...you wanted it?” the elf’s voice sounded lost and bewildered. Zevran’s eyes softened with pity, and Alistair cringed even more. “I thought...I thought... Damn it. I thought wrong then.” Dayan turned his head, and Alistair drew a shocked breath at the tears glistening down the dark-haired elf’s face.  A sad smile crooked the side of that luscious mouth. He jerked his shoulders out of Alistair’s grasp and rolled them, then bowed his head and made for the door.

Dayan paused, then looked at Zevran with that sad parody of a smile still crooking his mouth. “Be...be good to him, Zevran.”

Alistair grasped his arm, almost on instinct.

“It wasn’t like that. I asked him to...” he fumbled for an explanation and suddenly felt a hot wave of anger rise inside him. “You said you didn’t want a virgin! You said you’d rather sleep with a genlock! What was I to do? I had to learn somehow!”

Dayan started in surprise, and a puzzled frown creased his brow before understanding lit his eyes and he gasped. Then a blush more furious than any Alistair could ever have managed painted his face.

“Oh!” he said. “You heard...”

“We both did.” Zevran spit out the blood that had flooded his mouth from the cut on his lip.

Dayan looked from one to the other, the blush now spreading to colour his neck and ears.

“It was a lie,” he stuttered. “I was ashamed to admit...that...that I haveneverdonethisbefore.”

“WHAT?”

“I HAVE NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE!”

Alistair gasped, but Zevran, despite the pain in his lip, threw his head back and roared with laughter.

* * *

Dayan gave Alistair a thoughtful look as he closed the door. He wasn’t a fool, oh, no. He had caught that little smirk on Zevran’s lips that hid so much: a little bit of jealousy, a little bit of disappointment, a little bit of longing. And he now saw how Alistair worried his lip, a sad look dimming his honey-coloured eyes as he was closing the door on the assassin.

“If you prefer to be with Zevran, Alistair, I will understand,” he said softly. The way the taller warrior blushed before he shook his head negatively made him fear that the thought might have crossed Alistair’s mind at some point.

“It’s not that.” Alistair was quick to assuage the other man’s visible alarm. “It’s just that...” he ran a hand thorough his hair, messing up the short spikes even more, then rubbing the back of his neck as he sank down on the bed. “He was so tender, so careful with me last night, Dayan. I didn't think he had it in him. He was...patient, followed my rules, respected my boundaries.”

“We are talking about Zevran, here, right?” Dayan sat next to Alistair, and without even thinking about it, leaned his head on his shoulder. “Not his good twin, or something?”

“He seems so...so lonely right now,” Alistair sighed and then turned his head and ran a lithe, talented tongue up the curve of Dayan’s ear.

“Alistair,” Dayan moaned, and the sound of his name on the deadly warrior’s lips, whispered reverently like that, was enough to push any other thought from the ex-templar’s mind. “You know....you know how I feel about you, right?”

Alistair nodded, unable to speak, his heart hammering against his ribcage.

“If you want Zevran, if it would make you happy...I’m willing to share. I’d do anything to make you happy.”

Alistair moaned, and then gently nipped the elf’s ear. “Maker, I love you.”

 A shiver shook the elven warrior’s well-built frame, and he turned those amazingly luminous grey eyes towards him; gazes lock and held, grey eyes lost in warm honey ones. Without even thinking about it, they both leaned their head towards each other, and their breath mingled just before their lips touched tentatively for the first time. A little sigh of want escaped Alistair, or maybe it was Dayan, neither of them knew anymore. Just as they didn't know who deepened the kiss first, whose tongue it was that first slid inside whose mouth. All they knew was that the taste was unique, the sensation electrifying, the heat and moistness intoxicating.

The kiss grew frantic, desperate, a battle of tongues and teeth and little nips and licks while they panted and moaned, sending flames of desire licking up and down their bodies.

Dayan’s mouth was the first to break free, only to trail down Alistair’s stubble-darkened chin and then down the corded column of his neck. Hands fumbled with fastenings and clothing. In the end, Dayan, frustrated with the nobleman’s doublet that Eamon had insisted Alistair wear while at Redcliffe Castle, used the strength in his sinewy, corded muscles to tear the whole thing off, making Alistair yelp in surprise, and then purr with excitement at the hot, out-of-control look that was darkening the elven warden’s eyes to a stormy grey.

Dayan threw the knotted mess of clothing away and put a hand out to touch Alistair’s chest. A soft rosy blush was tinting his pale skin, and his eyes were both languorous with desire and wide with fear.

“Show me what you’ve learned.” He smiled at Alistair, and the ex-templar smiled back and started undoing the laces of his leather britches. Then he stood up to pull them off. Dayan’s eyes went a little wider at the sight of a naked and heavily aroused Alistair, and he seemed to lose his nerve as the blond warrior sat back down on the bed and reached for him. He scooted away.

“Oh, no,” he shook his head, his eyes locked on that engorged shaft, on the mushroom-shaped head, glistening with pre-come. “That thing is not coming any nearer, Ali, it can’t be done.”

Alistair shot a surprised look down at his member.

“It’s not _that_ big.”

“Said the _horse_.” Dayan rolled his eyes.

Alistair chuckled, his male ego secretly thrilled at the wide-eyed way the elf was looking at him, and he reached for Dayan again.

“Come on, I’m sure yours is just as big. Get those britches off.”

“Are you kidding?” Dayan laughed and scooted even further away, until his back hit the headboard and he had no more room to run. “The minute I get it out it will die of envy. Take that lamppost away from me.”

Alistair laughed, then grabbed the other man by the ankles and forcefully dragged him towards him, the elf laughing and mock resisting him. They both giggled together, throwing some mock punches and grabbing and groping each other, their happiness coming out as childish horsing around, until Dayan found himself pinned underneath Alistair, his hands thrown back over his head, and his legs held down by the human’s strong thighs.

Mirth disappeared as desire sprang free, and they were once again staring at each other, panting with their play, smiles still playing around their mouths. Alistair claimed the elf in another mind blowing, insanely hot kiss, and Dayan arched into him, wrapping his arms tightly around his friend and soon to be lover.

Alistair looked down and then to Dayan’s face, and with trembling fingers released his lover from the tight confines of the leather britches he was wearing. A nicely proportioned cock, long and thick, sprang out and Alistair couldn’t resist the urge to tease.

“Oh, look at _that_ ,” he crooned with a saccharine sweet voice. “That is so ... _cute_.”

Dayan sputtered for a few seconds, incensed, before the little rascal smile on Alistair’s face registered.

“Of course it is cute, compared to that horse meat you have there,” he bit his cheek to keep from smiling. “You know I am not letting you put that thing in any orifice or body cavity, don’t you?”

Alistair smiled then, a slow spreading grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief and suggestion. Dayan’s breath caught. It was like looking at Zevran and one of those lewd, suggestive looks of his that promised untold pleasures. That look that said _we’ll see about that_.

“Oh, what has that fiend done to my innocent, blushing little Ali?” he asked, and Alistair pressed his hips against his, gyrating against him, rubbing that impressive erection against his own.

“Let me show you,” Alistair mumbled, and then his mouth trailed down to capture one nipple and play with it, holding it between his teeth while the tip of his tongue rubbed back and forth against it.

His hand had trailed down their bellies, snuck between them; he took their cocks in his large palm and stroked them both together. The dark-haired elf hissed at the unexpected pleasure and pulled Alistair’s head up by his hair for a kiss that was hot and calming, urgent and languid at the same time. Alistair smiled into the elf’s dazed eyes and then, that wicked smile once again grazing his lips, he slid down, spreading kisses and little licks and nips down the length of Dayan’s torso until he reached his cock and took it in his mouth, one hand still playing with his nipples.

“Creators!” Dayan cried out, and arched up. Alistair was lying across the mattress, and without realising how they managed it, they soon found themselves wrapped in each other, on their side, pleasuring each other at the same time. Dayan was a quick study, learning by example and mimicking Alistair’s movements even when they shocked him. Soon they were not only moaning around each other’s erections, but fingers were thrusting in dark, forbidden openings and tongues were slicking the way.

Alistair was the one to break the embrace, forcibly dragging Dayan away from his cock, and looking around frantically for something, anything he could use. He followed Dayan’s gaze to the nightstand, and the vials of oil that Dayan used to treat his heirloom leather armour sitting there. He slicked his fingers and then his cock, and pushed Dayan’s thighs up, exposing his hole.

One look among them, wordlessly asking for permission, wordlessly receiving it.

_Are you sure?_

_Yes._

Dayan held Alistair’s eyes as he was being prepared, then as the warrior sank inside him carefully, inch by delicious, painful inch. He winced and groaned, but never broke eye contact, and neither did Alistair. It was as if they were uniting their souls, not just their bodies. The joining was difficult, yes, maybe even uncomfortable and painful, but they both knew that in the end it would be worth it.

Dayan groaned, pleasure and pain, brilliant arcs of sensation spearing inside him as Alistair’s slowly sinking cock rubbed against a spot that radiated heat through his body. He could feel each inch taking him, stroking nerve endings that he had never imagined could be so responsive; stroking and heating and setting them ablaze. He nearly screamed Alistair’s name as with one final, powerful thrust he forced his hard length inside him, hilting himself, his body corded to near breaking with tension.

And still they held each other’s eyes.

After giving him as much time as he possibly could to relax and adapt, Alistair started taking Dayan with long, slow strokes, groaning above him with every breath, biting down on his lip to stop the sounds but unable to, no matter how strongly he bit down. The look on Dayan’s face, so sexy as he moaned with every thrust, as his eyes turned to molten pewter, as he whispered his name. And the trust, the love in those eyes.

Dayan came, his seed shooting out of him in thick, pearly ropes that bathed both their stomachs as they were straining against each other, and still he remained hard, still his desire had not been sated. He had no idea what to call what he was feeling anymore. Fireworks were going off behind his eyes. Was it pain? Was it agonising pleasure? He didn't know. All he knew, as the thrusts started hammering inside him, was that he loved the man that was filling him, and he told him so in broken pants and moans.

Alistair lost it. Dayan heard his harsh cry, but couldn’t understand it, could barely make sense of the cock pounding inside him, filling him with the fiery pulses of his seed as the world collapsed inside his mind.

“Shhh…” Alistair’s voice was soft as he drew away; velvet-soft, gentle, as he eased his lover down from his high, then pulled him into a tight hug. Dayan whimpered, pain and pleasure still radiating from his rear and spreading in concentric circles to curl his toes and make his every muscle tremble.

Alistair was in no better shape, his whole world having been rocked by the intensity and strength of both the pleasure he had felt and the love that filled his heart, making it feel huge and tender in his chest. He showered his lover with kisses and whispered endearments and petted down his chiselled body, until they had both calmed down.

“If this is what Zevran has lost, I can understand his disappointment,” Dayan said when he had finally managed to find his breath, and Alistair’s eyebrow rose. Then he frowned. He didn't like the thought of Zevran feeling disappointed, and he had to question why he cared.

Examining his emotions, he found no small amount of affection for the blond assassin.

Dayan was watching him with a slight smile on his face. Alistair realised it and tried to school his expression into indifference.

The dark-haired elf laughed. “Your poker face needs work, love. I know you care about him. I know that the thought of him being alone disturbs you. I know you won’t be happy anymore, not unless he is happy too.”

He laid a hand on Alistair’s heart.

“I know you, you big softy.”

Alistair smiled and leaned in to kiss Dayan. “I love you. I choose you.”

“What if you could have us both?”

Alistair moaned. “I’d love you both.”

Dayan closed his eyes for a moment. “Done, then. Go get him.”

“You are pulling my leg, right?” Alistair refused to believe it could be true, that someone would ever love him so selflessly as to grant him even that desire. Effortlessly, without reproach. “This is a big joke. The clowns are going to pop out of the closet any minute now.”

“Go get him.” Dayan waved him away. “Go. Shoo.”

“You really mean it? I can keep him?”

“As long as you feed him and walk him twice a day.”

“He’s not a dog!” Alistair protested, then thought of how much Fereldans loved their dogs. “ Okay, I promise,” he said hastily, and scrambled to throw some clothes on and go find Zevran, not wanting to give Dayan the chance to change his mind.


	6. Chapter 6

Zevran raised his head from the mug of ale he had been nursing for the past hour, a slightly annoyed look on his face.

Oghren snickered opposite him, then belched loudly and slammed his hand on the table.

“So did you plunder his Deep Roads, elf, or did he plunder yours?

Zevran just huffed, and sent the dwarf a coldly furious look.

“Ah, so the little pike twirler polished your sword, didn't he? Did he...worship your paragon? Slay your archdemon? Polish your staff?”

Zevran gave him the icy glare of death, the one that promised poison in his next batch of cheap booze.

“Ah, come on, nug licker! It’s breaking my little heart watching you sit there and mope!” Oghren belched again. “Make a joke, say something. I know! I’ll take off my boots and you can make a comment about how stinky my socks are.”

“You wear socks? Now that is a shock,” Zevran said half-heartedly.

“That’s the spirit!”

Alistair burst into the room, his clothes in disarray and his hair sticking up in all directions, and shot the pair a look; then he gave a curt nod to Oghren, signalling him to leave them alone.

The dwarf got up and drained his mug, then put a hand on the elf’s shoulder as he was going by.

“You broke the elf, nug humper. Fix this,” he muttered to Alistair as he was going by, but Alistair paid him no notice. Instead, his attention was riveted by a pair of golden eyes.

“How was it?” Zevran asked, raising the mug to his lips. “Did he appreciate my teachings?”

Alistair smiled and then ambled to the elf and took the seat next to him.

“Ah, I see you have no trouble sitting down, amico, so I must assume you are still a virgin, no?”

“Amico, Zev?” Alistair’s voice was soft. “You called me something else last night.”

“A slip of the tongue,” Zevran replied coldly. He hated having his mistakes rubbed into his face. “It means nothing.”

Alistair hummed. “Yes, I know. It was all a lesson to you. You did your job and that was all...you did a very good job too.”

“I am Zevran Arainai.” The assassin shrugged. “I am ridiculously awesome. What might you want of me, Alistair?”

“We need more lessons.”

Zevran spewed the drink he was in the process of swallowing, spraying the table in front of him.

* * *

 

When they arrived back at the room, Alistair having to practically drag Zevran along with him, Dayan was still naked and lying sprawled on the bed, amazingly relaxed and contented, and basking in the happiness coursing through him. He jerked a bit when Zevran walked in, trying to find something to cover himself with, but then he shrugged and gave up. The decision was final, after all. He had better start getting comfortable with both Zevran and Alistair seeing him naked.

Still, the blush remained and deepened as Zevran’s eyes widened and trailed down his body, lewdly examining him.

Alistair let go of Zevran’s arm to crawl over the bed to his lover, and they shared an intimate, loving kiss before they parted and looked at Zevran.

He felt gooseflesh rise all over his body. That was the same look hungry wolves gave to deer as they circled them.

“Okay, what is going on here?” he asked, fervently trying to suppress the erection that was already starting to tent his britches. “Explain, my warden friends. I am at a bit of a loss. Not that I don’t appreciate the view,” he waved towards them, “because, trust me, I do, but this is highly unusual. Is this some kind of Warden Ritual? Do you kill and eat your lovers?”

Dayan laughed and motioned to Alistair, going slightly pink. Alistair motioned right back, getting all red-faced again.

“The heroes that will save us from the Blight,” Zevran drawled sarcastically.

“Hush you. Killing darkspawn is easy. This is nerve-wracking,” Dayan said.

Alistair ran both hands through his hair. “Nnnnn!” he cried. “This is so frustrating! Okay here goes. Do you want us? Because we want you, well, I want you-the Blight take me, I more than want you and if you want us too, well me, really...”

Dayan silenced him with a hand over his mouth, his eyes twinkling. Zevran looked even more puzzled. All he had managed to grasp was I want you, and I more than want you.

“I can share.” Dayan just said, and with these three words, everything became crystal clear and Zevran drew in a deep, convulsive breath.

His eyes sought out Alistair’s and he drew another shocked breath at the look of acceptance and want that the ex-templar was sending him.

“But, you love Dayan,” he muttered.

“I think I love you too.”

Zevran bit his lip.

“Don’t you mind?” he said as he turned to Dayan.

The elf gave him a warm smile. “If Alistair loves you, I cannot help but love you too, Zev.”

Zevran’s world tilted on its axis and then righted itself, but everything was now different, clearer, with more purpose. He felt light, as if walking on clouds; he felt like smiling. With a surprised jolt, he realised the feeling coursing through him was happiness; Brasca, how long had it been since he had felt that?

He gave them both a happy, winsome smile that slowly turned lewd as he noticed their fogged eyes and Dayan’s very obvious erection.

“This calls for a celebration!” he cried out, and the two men pulled away to make room for him on the bed.

* * *

 

Half an hour later.

Alistair was moaning loudly enough to bring the roof down as two talented mouths tormented his aching erection. He had one hand fisted around a lock of golden blond hair and another around one as dark as midnight. Two tongues licked him up and down; two mouths took turns drawing him deep inside. A tongue was bathing his balls as another one was flicking against the slit at the top; two pairs of hands fondled and caressed and pumped him until he had no choice but to let go.

Two lovers competed with each other to lap up his seed.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Another half an hour later.

Zevran was thrusting slowly into Dayan’s welcoming depths, the penetration easy after he had been stretched by Alistair’s impressive girth, while Alistair was on his knees next to them, one hand massaging Zevran’s prostate, three fingers deep inside him, and the other slowly pumping Dayan’s cock.

Dayan looked back over his shoulder to see Zev and Alistair exchange a hot, open mouthed kiss.

He didn't last much longer.

* * *

 

One more hour after that.

Alistair lost his virginity to Zevran.

Dayan was holding on to him, soothing his hands down his lover’s torso, crooning to him and encouraging him with dark, naughty whispers as Zevran slowly thrust inside him. Alistair had hidden his face in the crook of Dayan’s neck, moaning softly, totally surrendered, as that long cock powered inside him. 

It hurt, but he loved it. He made Dayan take him next, and he shot longing looks at Zevran, who was content to watch while he tried to catch his breath.

The assassin laughed and complained that these blighted Grey Wardens were trying to dry him up. But he crawled next to them regardless, and watched as Dayan coiled and struck, thrusting deep into their previously pure, virginal Chantry boy. The man sweating and grunting on his knees in front of him had nothing to do with that blubbering, red-faced boy; he was smoking hot, insanely sexy, as he used one of his hands to pump his own cock while his elven lover plundered his ass.

Zevran stopped Dayan and directed them to lie down on their side, watching enthralled for a moment as they fumbled adorably to get comfortable. Dayan supported one of Alistair’s meaty thighs and slid between his legs, slipping his cock back inside the ex-templar with a sigh of contentment. Zevran winked at them and then settled down next to them, his back to Alistair’s front, who just looked at him with pleasure fogged eyes. Then, when he understood what Zevran intended to do, he uttered a wild, animalistic growl.

Zevran wiggled and gyrated his hips until that wonderfully thick cock was poised at his entrance, and then pushed back, impaling himself on Alistair’s turgid rod, pushing back until he had taken him in to the hilt.

Alistair’s growls of pleasure and pleas to the Maker as he found himself the filling to a delicious elven sandwich were probably heard all the way to Redcliffe village.

* * *

 

At some point Leliana knocked on the door, asking them if they would come down to lunch, but they told her to just bring them a tray. They all ate together, Zevran fighting hard to salvage a few bites from the ravenous Grey Wardens, complaining that if they wanted him to keep up, they would have to keep him well fed.

Dayan and Alistair exchanged a look and burst into laughter.

* * *

 

They took a nap after that, a mess of tangled limbs on the bed, like a puppy pile, all spooned together. It was the best sleep the two Grey Wardens had had in quite some time. The assassin didn't sleep badly, either, snoring a bit too loudly, until a blond head rose from the tangle of limbs and bodies, located the rogue’s shoulder, and shook him slightly. Zevran opened his eyes and Alistair muttered, “You snore. That’s grounds for divorce.”

Surprisingly, despite being accused of such a banal habit and his sleep being interrupted, Zevran fell asleep again with a huge smile on his face.

* * *

 

Zevran woke up to find himself the centre of a very hot, very sexy warden sandwich, Dayan spooned to his back, Alistair’s brawny arms holding him tight to his chest.

He opened his eyes to see eyes of warm honey gazing longingly at him, and before he knew it, Alistair had made him straddle his lap, facing away from him, his back resting against the warden’s chest. They shared a hot, awkwardly slanted kiss before Alistair started nibbling on Zevran’s ears and neck. When the assassin’s moans became too loud, the warrior pressed a hand over his mouth and whispered in his ear to be quiet because Dayan was sleeping.

Dayan woke up to see Alistair forcibly moving Zevran up and down his cock, holding onto his hips hard enough to bruise, not that the assassin minded. His head was thrown back, giving the human the perfect access to his ears, and his small whimpered moans were the ideal complement to the sexy sound of flesh slapping together.

Dayan watched for a few minutes, riveted at the sight, before he knelt in front of them and took Zevran into his mouth, making him almost scream with pleasure. His tongue trailed down Zevran’s shaft, down his balls, to where Alistair was filling him up, and made them both hiss and nearly come by lingering there, trying to push in, stroking both Alistair’s cock and Zevran’s stretched opening.

Alistair’s eyes met Dayan’s, and they smiled wickedly at each other. Dayan slicked himself up and pressed the head of his erection to where Alistair was already filling Zevran to capacity. Zevran’s eyes widened in momentary panic before he relaxed in their midst; he knew instinctively that they would never hurt him, that they would both die before they did.

It took what felt like hours, both of them affectionate and tender, soothing him with whispered endearments, with lingering kisses and hands, their magic hands everywhere. Their mouths were on his ears, his neck, his face. Alistair’s body was a furnace of heat on his back and Dayan’s stormy grey eyes an anchor that kept him grounded and calm, even when the pain threatened to become too much, even when the pleasure threatened to become pain.

When they both finally managed to fit inside him and started tentatively thrusting, a collective moan rose from their lips. For Dayan and Alistair, the painfully snug fit and the way their slicked erections slid against each other was pure magic, and for Zevran, the feeling of being completely and utterly taken was outside of even his experience. He started shaking like a leaf, Alistair’s brawny arms engulfing him, Dayan holding his gaze and whispering that he was a dream, a fucking dream, this was heaven, this was what gods felt, this was pure, unadulterated bliss.

Zevran surrendered to them and they to him; giving and taking, penetrating and engulfing, belonging and accepting; it was profoundly erotic, as they moved together as one, came together as one, moaned each other’s names. Zevran took both their essences, felt it splash inside him, and felt branded, taken, owned.

He had longed to belong to somebody all his life, and at this one, perfect moment in time, as his body was exploding into pleasure like a supernova, he felt just that, and his heart swelled, his eyes watered.

He must have lost consciousness at some time, because when he regained his senses he was being tenderly, carefully cleaned, his body was being licked and soothed and petted, a heart was thundering under his cheek.

 _Home_ , he thought. This _is home. This is safe. Warm._

 _Perfect_.

* * *

 

Later, exhausted and still tingling from the most magnificent orgasm of his whole life, he had closed his eyes and napped for a while. When he woke he looked around, alarmed that this might have been a dream. The sight of his lovers kissing each other senseless was enough to make the panic ease, and his cock to start twitching back to life again. He shot an incredulous look at it and groaned.

“They are Wardens, my little friend,” he addressed his errant member. “We can’t keep up. Stay down, I beg of you.”

Alistair raised his head and smiled, and then looked down at his lap suggestively.

“Don’t listen to him, little Zevvy,” he purred. “Come and play.”

“Yes, little Zevvy,” Dayan joined in with a smile. “Rise and shine.”

Zevran fell back with an exasperated groan as his member instantly complied, once again rising to the occasion.

“Brasca. I have created two monsters, not just one.”

Alistair broke away from a kiss to smile at him.

“Ah, you love it and you know it.”

Zevran smiled brightly up at the ceiling and stretched like a big, lazy cat.

“Indeed I do, amore. Indeed I do.”

The end.

 


End file.
